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Happy Birthday…Here’s to Life

So, I recently turned 38. Not a major milestone but every year, well every day I have on this earth is worth celebrating so to have over 13,000 of them I’m actually quite happy! Only now that I have two children do I find my mind wander back to 1974 and count the days after my birth and think, ‘Well, today, my mom had a three year-old and a 9 day-old. I wonder what that was like for her.’ Do you ever do that? For this one instance, yes, it probably is just me. Anyway, so far, this new year seems to be treating me quite well. In honor the gift I have been given of another lovely year of life, I thought I would share my latest, albeit random reflections on life.

My body at 38 is not the body it once was at 27. I am no fool to think the contrary. What was once perky and flat in all the right places is now flat and perky in all the wrong places. However, there are some perks. Having carried and delivered two babies gives you a strength that you otherwise would not have. Just the literal running all day after children, toys, and lost socks I could probably run a 5K in better time then I did ten years ago. I can do more on less sleep. Fatigue is for wimps. I can carry a baby, a bag, a purse, and a coffee all at once and not drop, loose,or spill anyone or anything. I can pick up a pacifier with my toes and not touch the important part. I can open and pour a sippy cup of milk, heat up dinner, and administer medication all with one hand. I can heal boo-boos with a kiss and mend the heart of a tired child with a hug. So to those of you lamenting the body you once had, realize the strengths and skills that you have now and gratefully let your 38 year-old body tell your 27 year-old body to suck it.

I think working moms and stay-at-home moms are both slightly envious of each other. There are days when I really, really want to volunteer all day at my child’s school – serve lunch, substitute, absentee call, you name it. There are some things about that life that I wish I had. On the other hand, I know there are days in the life of the stay-at-home mother when she would gladly leave the kids with any warm-blooded soul just to get a few minutes away. I’m sure the idea of my life of challenging (non-kid involved) work and lunch with girlfriends is very appealing. However, I do take issue with the apparent uniform requirements of the stay-at-home mom. Ladies, unless you are literally just coming off the tennis court or if you literally ran on your own two feet to the school campus, the running shorts and tank should be left at home. Let me introduce you to the walking short, the Bermuda (a cousin to the walking short), and the flexible and flattering denim shirt. They all go on just as easily as the running short and wash and dry without complication, with the added bonus of making you look like the adorable mother of the child you are walking with and not his or her babysitter. Lastly, your sorority called and they want their 1998 winter formal t-shirt back.

My tolerance for meanness is gone. When you intentionally don’t recognize someone’s birthday, sign a gift note ‘from’ instead of ‘love’ after an argument, intentionally fail to recognize someone’s professional success, intentionally exclude, don’t invite, or don’t attend an event that is important to someone you are being hurtful and mean and I have zero tolerance for it. You see, we (identified from this point on as those of us who do not act this way) are on to you (identified from this point on as those who do act this way). We know who you are and the joke is on you. We forgive you and your ways because, well, we feel sorry for you. I think we need to have t-shirts made. I will be damn sure my kids are always the ones wearing shirts.

I’m still not sure that I know what I want to be when I grow up. I’m so restless right now that I’m considering switching political parties just for the fun of it. I wonder what it’s like to be a….

I am truly blessed to have the opportunity to mother both genders. I am actually growing more and more appreciative of my husband because of it. My daughter was speaking in full sentences at 18 months old and has not stopped since. Her vocabulary has grown to include the general usage of the words actually, specifically, and scrumptious. She also chooses words like hu-normous and potato grammar. She’s four, making up words is all part of the fun. Her conversations start as soon as she wakes up and ends just before she falls asleep. It’s usually at bedtime that she tells me that if she listens closely and quietly she can hear God talk to her in her heart. Love beyond words… On the other hand, I’m fairly certain my son can say ‘momma.’ I’m pretty sure that is what he is screaming when I pry his feet off of my coffee table. On occasion he may try to bark when he sees a dog, and there is a slight possibility that he is actually saying ‘pup pup’ but it’s hard to hear with all of my Tupperware, plastic bowls, and containers clashing to the ground as he empties my cabinets. In all fairness, it is hard to understand anyone when they have a plastic bowl on their head. Let’s face it. He’s busy. He’s got waaaay too much to do then sit and talk with his mother. I am simply there to make sure he doesn’t fall off the hearth on to the concrete floor. He will talk to me when it’s important. So when Brian tells me it’s really ok for us to just sit and not talk, well I understand him better now. I realize that this is the way he’s always been. I’m sure he didn’t say much to his mother either. And if he did she probably couldn’t understand him either considering the chances are great that he too had his head into something fun.